


One out of Five Ain't Terrible

by DestinyFreeReally



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8112007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinyFreeReally/pseuds/DestinyFreeReally
Summary: WynDolls sparring where Wynonna gets frustrated, and frustrates Dolls.





	

     Dolls slammed her back down to the mat, holding nothing back, and Wynonna swore she saw red. Four times he'd slammed her shoulders flat, despite all her concentrated efforts to thwart his attempts. She huffed a stubborn breath, almost mad at the ugly, green mat, too, for not taking her side.  Jumping back up, silencing her aching muscles with a grunt, she threw herself at him at top speed, tucking her knees into his chest and using his own body weight to topple him. The unceremonious ' _thud_ ' to the mat was sweet, sweet victory to Wynonna's ears.  
  
    "Yes! Yes!" She straddled him still, trapping him beneath the floor and her victory-dance hips. He looked out of breath and winded, hands stretched over his head, making Wynonna  _whoop_ , again.   
  
    "One of out five times isn't exactly a _great_ record," Dolls got some of his breath back, even with her rotating against his stomach in a way that _wasn't at all_ making his face hot. Momentarily, he contemplated throwing her off, but she was having so much fun. And she  _had_ been able to get him to the ground, even if it hadn't been pretty or tactical or safe to her, like any of the ways he'd been trying to get her to work on.   
  
    Leaning over, she pinned down his wrists over his head, grinning madly. Their faces just inches apart, Dolls blinked, wondering if this was...Well,  _what_ it was exactly... Some form of foreplay for  _both_ of them, that neither ever followed through with, or if she just got off all on her own by making him squirm.   
  
   "But," She drummed her fingers over his wrists, touching sensitive parts of his skin in a way that almost prickled, "I got  _up_ those other four times, thank you."   
  
   She felt a drip of sweat slide along her back, fighting a grimace. Letting his wrists go reluctantly once her back got uncomfortable, probably from all the _slamming_ , she sat flat against him, right on  his middle, perching her hands on her own thighs, grin still barely under wraps.   
  
  Once his wrists were free, he tucked his hands under his head, the mat slick with sweat against the back of his hands, _mostly_ hers, he didn't point out.   
  
  "Comfortable?" Dolls asked, fighting a smile. She looked good like this, happy, victorious, almost weightless- not that the ribs she was sitting on would back up that assessment.   
  
   "Actually, yes. Who would've thought? Dolls, is this what you feel like all the time?" Smiling big, she patted his chest slowly, letting her hand linger on him until she thought she saw a blush.  
  
  Waiting a few seconds, first he let her have her moment with her eyes all unblinking blue at him, and then he leaned up suddenly, throwing her back. Back to the mat. Shoulders down.   
  
   "I'm literally so sure I've warned against getting comfortable, Earp." He stood, helping her up, too, shrugging off any feelings of uncomfortableness that only had to do with their crotches being too close without a few dozen layers layers of clothing, or  _bricks_ between them.   
  
   "Yup, actually, lesson one, how could I forget? Comfort is what _actually_ killed the cat." Rubbing her sweaty palms off on her sweat pants, she reached for her bottle of water, squirting it into her mouth, before shooting a few drops at him. Glaring, he took the bottle from her, drinking, too. "That or, undead sons of bitches. You know, I always get that proverb confused."  
  
  



End file.
